


"In a Quiet Way"

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7386607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurt/Comfort Bingo entry, Row 1, Column 1, for "septicemia / infected wounds",  set immediately after "Obsession"</p>
            </blockquote>





	"In a Quiet Way"

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Jojo for the beta! All mistakes my own.

“ _When greater perils men environ,_

_Then women show a front of iron;_

_And, gentle in their manner, they_

_Do bold things in a quiet way.”_  
\- Thomas Dunn English

 

 

“I can't do anything.” The words were whispered, so quiet that Rain wasn't actually sure she heard them. “I can't make him want to live.”

 

She put her hands on Nathan's shoulders, struggling with her own anger. Chris Larabee had been a hero to her people, to her father – he had spoken so reverently of him, so sure that this man was just and fair and a real practitioner of democracy and equality.

 

Yet here he was, so self absorbed, so suicidal that he was driving the six men who were his friends to question themselves and their abilities. Nathan was the one most vulnerable at the moment, as he was trying to keep the wounded man alive, but she had seen it in the others, too: Buck paced outside the clinic door, day and night, so constant that she was startled by the rare moments of silence, when he sat down from exhaustion. Vin Tanner was gone, trying to track down the woman how had done this to Chris – to them all. Josiah sat in the room with them, reading from the Bible when he wasn't helping Nathan by fetching and carrying whatever he needed. Ezra Standish and JD came and went, never far away, but not underfoot. They were working with the telegraph operator and the Travis woman to try to find this killer of children.Rain most often heard the two men outside, their voices low as they tried to talk to Buck, to get him to eat or to leave or to eat. JD was very concerned, his worry worming its way through the walls of the building, closing around Nathan like a cloud.

 

This wounded, selfish man was killing them all, but he was too blind to see it. He fought against Nathan and Josiah, resisting them when they tried to give him medicine or to clean the wound, when they tried to feed him or give him water. Nathan kept saying it was because of the fever, because the gunshot had become infected and he was out of his mind, but Rain didn't think so. She had heard him speak, heard him say that it was his fault his wife and child were dead.

 

Saying that he did not deserve to live, not now.

 

“How am I going to tell them?” Nathan said, his hands over his eyes. “It's been four days now, four days with this damned fever sucking the life out of him.”

 

She leaned down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He was trembling, and she held him close against her as she said softly, “You are tired and you have not eaten. Go, find something good to eat. Get out of here for a time, breathe fresh air. I will sit with him.”

 

“I can't leave -” he started but she drew away, moving to sit in the chair beside him.

 

She pulled his hands from his face, not surprised to see trails of tears glistening on his cheeks. “If it is to be, it is to be. But it is not now. He is breathing steady, and he is still. I promise, I will send for you if this changes. For now, you must clear your head. Have not you said to me many times that a good healer must think past his fears and do what must be done?”

 

Nathan opened his mouth, but she again stopped him, this time by putting her fingers over his lips. “Go,” she said. “The longer you argue with me, the longer it will take.”

 

He closed his eyes and sighed, his breath warm against her fingertips. She pulled her hand away but leaned in to kiss him gently. “You are a good man,” she said. “Perhaps too good sometimes.”

 

He shook his head but slowly blinked his eyes open. “Maybe you're right. Maybe I do need to clear my head, see if I can think of something I've missed.”

 

She smiled at him and rose, walking to the bucket of water that stood on the counter, part of his clinic. Carefully, she rinsed out a cloth and brought it back to him. He took it and scrubbed at his face and hands, wiping away the signs of his distress. Eventually, he rose, stretching and rolling his head on his shoulders. She knew he carried pain there, from long hours hunched over his patients, especially this one.

 

“Find Josiah,” she said as he stepped away from the table and back toward the bed. Chris had not moved nor changed, his breathing still shallow but even, his skin shimmering with sweat. There was blood and yellow pus on the bandage around his chest, but it was no more than had been there earlier. The smell of infection was strong, but it had been since she had arrived three days ago. She hardly noticed it now, only when she left the small clinic and then returned.

 

Nathan stared down at Chris for a time, then he reached for the man's wrist, as if to check his pulse. “Nathan,” she said softly, “he is sleeping. Do not wake him, not now. Let him rest while he can.”

 

Nathan swallowed, and his hand wavered over Chris, but after a time, he drew back. He straightened, and slowly he turned away, back towards her. She met his gaze and held it, seeing the worry in him, but also the surrender. He knew she was right, he could tell by the tiredness she saw in him.

 

“I will send for you if anything changes, anything at all,” she promised. She took a step closer to him and stretched up, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Go.”

 

He did.

 

She watched him as he left, closing the door quietly behind him. She heard the low murmur of voices, then the sound of steps, more than just Nathan, moving away from the door and across the wooden porch to the stairs. The others were going with him – or at least some of them.

 

She was tempted to go to the door and look, but she didn't want to invite company or concern from any of the others. Instead, she moved into the small kitchen area and stoked the fire, adding wood to it to get it to blaze. As it built, she poured water from the pitcher of fresh water that Nathan kept for drinking into a small pot and set it over the flame. It was not a lot of water and it should heat quickly.

 

The problem, as she knew, was not the making of the brew but getting this man to drink it. But she had to try – it was the one thing she knew that might save him. And it was something that Nathan could never do.

 

She knew she was not doing it for Chris Larabee. Granted, she owed him, as did everyone in the village. He had led the seven men who had saved them from Anderson and his men, men who would have taken everything from them, including their lives. But that alone would not have given her the justification for what she was about to try.

 

What gave her that was the man she loved, the man she wanted to marry. For him, she would do this thing that he could never know of.

 

The herbs were in her travel bag, with many of the other things she had brought to him from the village. She had been learning the ways of the healers of her people, taught to her by Tastanagi, a learned healer, but also by Tualholga, who knew the ways of women's medicine. It was from her that Rain had learned how to make a man choose to live – or to die.

 

And it was this that she would do now.

 

The key was the amount of the cactus to use. Too little would not make him scared enough – though in his current physical condition, it might kill hm unintentionally.

 

Too much could take away the power of this man to choose for himself.

 

The smell of the tonic was light and pleasant – far more so than its effects would be. She let it steep for five minutes, counting off the seconds by walking around the room, stopping for a time to listen at the door. There was no sound there, no tread of steps back and forth, no murmur of voices.

 

When the time had come, she stirred the brew, then she strained it through a cotton cloth into a clean cup. She wrung out the cloth, leaving the remains of the herb mixture inside it; she'd wash it out later, after she had gotten him to take the potion. For now, it was safe in her apron pocket.

 

She held the cup away from herself as she walked over to the bed; the fumes could be powerful enough, and she intended to use them first, to let him breathe them in. They would open his dreams, make him easier to reach.

 

Rain sat in the chair beside the bed, singing a slow, quiet song in the language of her people. It was a lullaby, of a sort, one to call into the dreams, one to summon the demons. He stirred, turning toward her voice. He was still sweat-slick, his blond hair dark from the fever.

 

She held the mug close to his head, waving a hand over it to guide the vapors into his nostrils. He twitched, his head moving back and forth as he smelled the sweet scent.

 

She sang a little louder and more closely to his ear. He turned toward her, his nose beginning to twitch. His breathing changed, becoming faster, and the color of his skin, which had been unusually pale from the loss of blood, darkened as what little blood he had rose to the surface. She saw his hands tremble, his fingers curling back toward his palms. The herbs were beginning to work.

 

She finished the song and said softly, “You must drink this. It will help you decide what you need to do.”

 

His eyes were moving under his closed lids, the lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. He was coming awake. His lips moved as he made a soft noise. She couldn't make out the word but she held the mug closer to his lips.

 

“You must drink,” she said again, touching the rim of the mug to his lips.

 

His head was on a pillow, raised enough that she could get the mug to his lips without spilling the mix. As it touched his lip, he instinctively stuck out his tongue, tasting the concoction.

 

 

It had a nice flavor, the herbs and some bits of dried, fermented fruit sweetening it enough to cover the bitterness of the cactus. The hint of alcohol often appealed to men and given what she had heard of this man, she suspected that that demon resided somewhere in his dreams as well.

 

He made a slight noise, the movement under his eyelids growing faster. “You must drink,” she said, sliding one hand under his head and lifting it slightly and tilting it forward.

 

“Sara?” he rasped, and his eyelids fluttered.

 

“You must drink,” she said, tipping the cup so that the liquid touched his lips. “You must decide.”

 

“She killed you,” he mumbled, but he took a sip and swallowed.

 

“She is killing you,” she said, knowing the story. “Is that what you want?” She tilted the cup a little more and he didn't resist, taking more of it into his mouth.

 

“I killed them,” he said, trying to turn his head away. “It was me.”

 

“You did not make that choice,” she said, trying to hold his head still. “But you must decide your fate. You must decide if the lives of your friends are important to you.”

 

“Friends?” he said, and he stopped moving, his eyes finally coming open.

 

Rain pressed the cup to his lips and he took more of it from habit. He had taken almost a third of the cup, which was good – that was almost enough. She hoped for half as that should be enough.

 

And he was beginning to show the effects. His eyes were dull, unseeing of the room, unfocused. His skin was growing pinker and her breathing was faster now. His hands moved restlessly, opening and closing into fists, catching at the bed linen.

 

“Buck, Vin, Nathan – the others,” she murmured close to his ear. “They almost died for you, too, because of her. Will you abandon them? Will you let her win?”

 

“Sara,” he said again, closing his eyes. “You're here.”

 

He was in the dream world, in a world of his own making. His demons were with him, and now, he would confront them directly.

 

She tilted the cup once more, saying softly, “Drink, be strong. Decide who is more important – the dead or the living.”

 

He sputtered this time, but still ended up swallowing most of what got past his lips. She had managed to get what was needed into him, so she set the cup aside, wiping at his face with a clean damp cloth, the one Nathan had used earlier.

 

He tossed now, mumbling words, calling out names. His voice was not loud, but she still hoped that no one came, not for a time. Not until he had decided.

 

Sweat covered his skin, soaking into the bandage. He moved as if struggling, trying to lift his arms. His legs turned, twisting in the bed linen, and at one point, he pushed upwards, calling out another name, that of the woman who had killed his family. Rain knew that that demon was the biggest of them, and if she was in his head, then he would be forced to decide.

 

She stayed close, often wiping at the sweat on his face and speaking softly to him. The words were the same: 'Decide who is more important – the living or the dead.' Tualholga had cautioned her often that it was not their role to make the decision, but to guide the searcher to their own choice. As few words as possible were to be used, and always the choice made clear: to go to the next life or to stay in this one.

 

With this man, she was not certain of her own mind. He was a good man, she did no doubt that. But his demons were many, and they weighed upon his friends as well. And Nathan was a very good man, a man she loved. If this man were gone, then Nathan might come to the village more, and eventually settle there.

 

But it was not for her to choose, it was up to this man. And, in truth, it was also up to Nathan. That was another decision she could not make.

 

She sat by the bed, watching him as he fought. At one point, he sat sat up, his eyes wide open, staring ahead of him. He clutched at the bandage around his body, pulling at it with a ferocity that wrinkled it. She worried that he would start to bleed again, that he would open the wound – but then, perhaps that was his intent. Maybe he had made his decision.

 

“Sara!” he called out again, and he lifted one hand straight out, as if reaching for her.

 

Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back into the pillow. The pink tinge to his skin faded quickly, and his breathing slowed then seemed to stop. She drew a breath, wondering if he had followed his wife into the distance. The sweat also stopped, no longer gathering on his forehead and chest.

 

She leaned forward, her ear near his chest. She could feel that he was breathing very shallowly, and his heart was slow. With a sigh, she rose and went to the wash bucket, rinsing the cloth she had been using to wipe him. She came back to the bed and washed his face and chest, then she took the mug and went outside, tossing what remained of its contents into the box of herbs that Nathan tried to grow year round. She stood for a time, letting the sun warm her face and the smell of life fill her head and heart.

 

Letting him go on his path as he wished.

 

When she went back in, the smell of infection was so strong that it made her stomach turn, and she regretted pouring out the mug. But it was best not to have it around when Nathan returned – best not to have to explain what she had done and why. It would be hard enough on him to find that his friend was -

 

She stopped. Chris was awake, staring up at the ceiling of the room. He blinked, and his breathing was slow but deeper that it had been before. She walked forward slowly, the mug in her hand. As she neared the bed, he turned and looked at her. His eyes were focused, clear, and they studied her closely.

 

“Rain,” he said, his voice still hoarse.

 

She held his gaze and said quietly, “You have decided to stay with the living.”

 

He drew a slow, deep breath, one hand rising to the bandage, and his expression tightened, as if he were in pain. “Need to find that bitch,” he said, his voice catching on the last word.

 

She sighed but nodded. Revenge, then. But it was a start. She made her way to the kitchen and poured water from the pitcher into the mug, taking it back to him. He struggled to sit up, not letting her help much, and his hand shook as he took the mug from her. But as he lifted it to his mouth, he frowned. He stared at it for a time, then, without looking at her, he said, “I dreamed that Sara brought me a tonic. That she made me drink it, told me I had to choose.”

 

“You have been very sick. The wound festered. Nathan has worked very hard, but for the past four days, he has feared the -”

 

He turned his head and looked at her. He said nothing, but she knew that he suspected what she had done.

 

It didn't matter. He had chosen, and his friends would have him back. She nodded toward the mug of water. “It is what you need.”

 

He still stared at her but after a while, he nodded. “Reckon it is,” he agreed. “What Nathan needs, too.”

 

They said nothing else, and when he finished the water, he handed her the cup, nodded, and fell back to sleep. Nathan found them a few minutes later, Chris resting easily, the sweat gone.

 

He looked at Rain who shrugged. “I think the fever has broken. He woke for a short while, and he knew who I was. He drank water.” She held up the mug, then, as Nathan came forward, she rose from the bedside chair and passed him, on her way to the kitchen.

 

He caught her by the wrist, drawing her to a stop. Looking down, she saw confusion on his face and for an instant, she worried that he knew, that he would no longer trust her.

 

Instead, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. “A woman's touch,” he said quietly, his forehead resting against hers. “My mama always said that there were some medicines only women knew how to use, that there was magic in a woman's touch. Reckon she was right.”

 

Rain smiled, feeling the damp cloth she had used to strain the tonic as it was caught between the two of them, deep in the pocket of her apron.


End file.
